Barbour County index. [volume] (Medicine Lodge, Kan.) 1880-current, 1887-12-21
THE "DEACON'S BOY"
How he Came to Him as One OF
the Lords Poor.

Deacon Thomas and his good wife sat
alone by the wide. open Fireplace, in the
''best room" Of the old gray farmhouse,
which had sheltered three generations of
the Thomas family, and was good enough,
thc deacon often declared, for three gen.
erations more.
Ah, that was il. That was one reason
why the worthy couple used the ''best
room" as common, to the envious wonder
of all the neighbors, though, to be sure,
good Betsey Thomas thought more Of
health aud comfort than Of fading her
parlor carpet.
What disturbed them most was the fact
that no children had blessed their union
Of over forty years, and the homestead
must pass into other hands when they
were done with it.
"Not that twill make much odds to us
when we're dead" said the old man, with
a sigh, "but I'd like to know that it was
kinder in the family. What dye say to
taking a child, Betsey, one of the Lords
poor, to kinder be a son to US, and have
the old farm when we are gomez"
eff we could be sure we'd find the light
kind, Abram. Some of 'em is ungrat eful,
I've heard, and p
The sentence was interrupted by a timid
knock at the front door.
"Who can it be at this time of the
night?" calculated the good woman, as
she hastily opened it.
There, in the rain and cold of the spring
thaw, stood a thinly- clad boy, who seemed
not more than ten years, although his
pinched face had an older look.
"What do you want, my boy?" asked
the deacon, kindly.
Nothing, please, sir, only to get warm
saw the light-l've been travelling all
day. was cold and hungry, and"-
Hungry, l shouldn't wonder. Bless my
soul, you shan't stay that long," and the
clatter of dishes in the kitchen told OF
Aunt Betsey's hospitable haste, while bel
more cautious husband went on with his
questions, looking kindly at the lad. who
shivered as he stretched his thin hands tC
the cheerful warmth.
"A-ah! Where'd you come from?"
"From Brownville. I've been working
In the factory there"
"What's your name"
"Frank Neddo."
Show old are your"
Thirteen"
"Humph, thought you were about ten. u
"I'm little, but l was thirteen last
August"
"U'um! Where's your homer"
81 amt got no home. Seems IL there
warn't no room for me anywhere" and
the thin lips quivered as he gazed into the
| glowing bed of Goals under the great fore
log, and bravely winked back the tears
that filled his great solemn eyes.
"No rooml Abram, we have room. and
nobody to fill it. Perhaps the good Lord
sent him to u.s." whispered Au mt Betsey
as she paused a moment by her husbands
chair. Then she added aloud:
''Come, now, and eat a bite. Here
there's nothing so warming as goo gin,
ger tea. Eat all you want. My, Abram
Don't it do you good to see himy Poor
thing"
But Deacon Thomas was in a brown
study, from which he did not arouse him
self until the boy returned to the freside
"A-hem" he began deliberately, eye.
ing him keerly over his glasses. "Hov
would you like to live here, Frank"
"Here! with you:" asked the boy, with
incredulous eyes.
the cattle, and the hens, and-and us, eh,
wifes"
There's lots left Of that homespun to
make him a suit" said Aunt Betsey, soft
ly. mentally taking his measure and talk.
ing to herself.
II do-Pd like to stay" breathed tn,
BOY, as if such a fortune were not fol
him.
'Stay 1t is, then. 1 see wife has al
ready settled it. You shall have home
here as long--as long as you deserve
it. Now, you'd better go to bed and
rest"
Aunt Betsey's nimble fingers soon fur
nished him a warm suit of clothes, aud il
was really wonderful what a change good
victuals aud plenty of them made in hi.
pinched, old-looking face. He grew rosy
and plump, merry look frightened his
solemn eyes, but they were always filed
with a loving glance for Aunt Betsey and
Uncle Abram, as he learned to call the
worthy couple who grew to love him as q
son.
'The Lord heard u.s." Aunt Betsey
would say, solemnly, whenever the SUBJ
| ject was mentioned. "He knew we warns
fit to choose for ourselves, and he sent u,
blessing in his own way. And yot
wouldn't think it was the same boy now,
would you?"
A year passed, and the deacon wa:
called TO distant State by the Illness of 6
| brother.
Aunt Betsey was in despair.
'Not that / don't want you to 90
Abram," she said, earnestly, ''but most
know something'Il happen. dren.pt d
snakes last night They was big ones
twisted around the cats, and you lookina
out of the car windows"
"Pho, wife! l thought you had NOR.
sense, Betsey. Dreams never mean moth
ing," said the deacon, with more ip,pa.
thence than he often showed. $50 diC
dream last night drempt I was
dead"
''There!"
swell, yorl are foolish woman, Bet
sey. You're nervous, suppose. won't
be gone more than a week, and there's
Frank to do the chores, you know"
"Y-e-e-s." But it was evident enough
that Aunt Betsey's comfort went with
him
The next day Il began to rama dis
NAL, chilly down-pour. as spring rains
are apt to be. The brown earth appeared
in patches on the hiIlsides, the river over
flowed its fetters, then the weather gradu
ally changed, until the rain-soaked eartl
/, glittered with frozen ics-drops-